


The Price of Doing Business

by Lenore



Category: Smallville
Genre: Multi, Porn, Substitution, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-27
Updated: 2011-08-27
Packaged: 2017-10-23 03:22:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's sport for sports sake, and always a price for doing business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price of Doing Business

**Author's Note:**

> A while ago, [](http://fleegull.livejournal.com/profile)[**fleegull**](http://fleegull.livejournal.com/) wanted to read Lex-het, some of those shocking adventures with women the boy gets into while he's in the big city. I had just been thinking of that, imagining how different Lex is when he's in Metropolis, and I wanted to write Fleegull a story. Then I got busy. Then I forgot Fleegull's birthday. And now I've written the Lex-het story in honor of it, somewhat belatedly.

Lex makes the drive to the city several times a week now that LuthorCorp is all his, in the Ferrari or the Porsche, never the limo, because he likes to have control, windows down if the weather allows, air rushing in his face, the stereo turned up as loud as the human ear can stand. Or maybe a little louder. Lex has tolerances that exceed the ordinary design of men.

It still fascinates him, how profoundly everything changes the closer he gets to Metropolis, the cornfields giving way to spindly clumps of trees, to clusters of low-built houses in the far-flung, less fashionable suburbs, to cookie-cutter mansions with their tiny, perfect lawns like scraps of emerald carpet, to the gray pall of commerce and decay in the old industrial heart of town, and finally the gleaming steel and glass of the business district, his native home.

It's not just the landscape that alters, of course. Lex himself undergoes a three-hour transformation, sloughing off the dull cocoon of small-town sobriety. By the time he's driving down Memorial Boulevard, past store windows filled with glittering temptation, some imaginary muscle that stays clenched all the time in Smallville has relaxed, and he feels himself expanding, taking up his rightful space.

He pulls into the garage where he stores his cars, and the attendant Jack, a gray-haired man in an immaculate scarlet coat, tips his cap. "Morning, Mr. Luthor."

Lex hands over the keys and a hundred-dollar bill. "Take good care of her for me."

A wide smile spreads across Jack's weathered face. "You know I will, Mr. Luthor."

People think cities are complicated, but Metropolis is as easy as the hookers who loiter half-dressed on the corners of Suicide Slums. Flash some cash, and anything can be yours, a straightforward mercantile transaction that comes as naturally to Lex as breathing.

It's different in Smallville. Oh, they bow and scrape to him. _Yes, sir, Mr. Luthor. Right away, sir._ He could bring down the entire town like a house of cards with just the crook of his finger, and everyone is all too aware of that. He's tried so hard to show them that his ambitions for the place have nothing to do with destruction. There was a time when he expected this might make him a savior, but after years of pale smiles and hard eyes that follow him like he's some would-be criminal, he's come to understand that he'll always be an interloper, a Luthor, the devil.

Occasionally, he considers giving up on that water-logged dream once and for all, but then something will happen, a rare smile from Clark, Lana talking to him like they're still friends, Mrs. Kent adding one of her apple pies to his weekly order just because she knows he likes them. Someday, none of this will be enough. Nobody can wait around forever hoping to be loved, not even him. In the meantime, he endures Smallville's empty politeness, anticipating the final break, sometimes with relief, sometimes dread, but always with a sense of inevitability.

At least, he has these days in Metropolis to fortify him. He walks the three blocks to the Sutherland building where he has a meeting, breathing deeply, the smell of pollution in the air, both literal and figurative. There's an odd comfort knowing that his surroundings are no more pure than he is. He doesn't have to break his stride even once the whole way there, the streetlights changing obligingly, traffic just seeming to flow around him, as if the very pavement and cars recognize him. He whistles under his breath. It's good to be king.

The lobby of the Sutherland building makes him squint, more gaudy than he even remembered it, all gold gilt and pink marble, _from the finest quarries in Carerra,_ Harry Sutherland is fond of pointing out. He is not a subtle man by any standards: the largest house in town, the most phallic high-rise in the skyline, a third wife so young it stands out even among his CEO set of friends. When Lex steps off the elevator, it's no particular surprise that he's met by enough corporate firepower to take over a small country. _Never do anything halfway,_ that's Harry Sutherland's motto.

Harry greets him in typically florid fashion, pumping his hand. "It's been too long, Lex."

"Good to see you, Harry. You're looking well."

Lex ignores the minions, who are just there for show, all except Estelle Owens, Sutherland's Chief Counsel. Lex doubts Harry goes to the bathroom without her say-so.

He smiles at her appreciatively. "Estelle."

"Lex." Her gaze flickers over him, returning the admiration.

Estelle Owens is one of those women whose age is impossible to guess, too seamless to appear either old or young, precise and alluring in a slim black skirt and delicate silk blouse, her raven hair swept into a sleek twist, blue eyes wide and filled with playful mockery. There's something violently unpredictable about her, as if she might fuck you or pull your heart out at any given moment, and you'd never guess which, never see it coming. She and Lex understand each other well. They've done business to their mutual satisfaction on many occasions, sometimes in the boardroom, sometimes flung across the backseat of the Sutherland corporate limousine.

Harry leads the way to the conference room, and they all take seats at the table, Lex, Estelle and Harry, the actual players, along with all the window-dressers, armed with serious expressions and large stacks of paper to make up for the fact that they have no purpose for being there.

Lex glances around the room. "While I'm flattered by all this attention, I'm sure we can handle this ourselves, don't you think, Harry?"

It's a perfectly friendly transaction, but Lex refuses to be outnumbered purely on principle.

Harry clears his voice, not once, but twice, and looks helplessly at Estelle. Since wife number three got pregnant, he's been off his game, easily distracted, looking more and more to his top executives to make his decisions for him—so the gossip in business circles goes.

Estelle's eyes sparkle with carefully held-back amusement. She understands, even if Harry doesn't, that Lex needs this deal as much as they do, and all his jockeying for position is mere sport for sports sake.

She says gamely, "Of course, Lex. Whatever you're comfortable with." No one enjoys sport more than she does. She smiles politely at her colleagues. "It seems we won't be needing your help after all, but thank you for coming."

For a moment, they just blink, as if they couldn't possibly have heard her correctly. At last, they get to their feet like kids dismissed from the grownups' tables, sheepish and disgruntled.

Estelle calls one of them back, "Marcy, we might need those numbers you've put together. Why don't you stay and listen in, just in case?"

Marcy is a slight blonde with spiky hair, fresh out of school. "Sure," she says, her hands fluttering, making the bangle bracelets on her wrists clink conspicuously.

She's the youngest and most junior of the group by far, and her colleagues glare darkly in her direction, not happy to be passed over in favor of someone on the very bottom rung of the corporate ladder.

Marcy settles at the table, a little hesitantly. Estelle smiles like an encouraging aunt, and Lex understands what kind of game this is. There's no drama to this deal—it's win-win for everyone, the terms already inked on paper, just waiting to be signed—so Estelle is making her own fun, inviting Lex along for the ride. It's nothing they haven't done before. Estelle always has her eye on some young protege, and perhaps Lex misses Victoria more than he likes to admit. Estelle has become his new partner in intrigue.

"So you've had a chance to read over the offer." Estelle drums her red lacquered nails on the cover of the eight-hundred-page tome. "I trust everything is in order."

If this were a relay, the baton would be in Lex' s hands now. He adopts a grave expression, flipping through the pages of the proposal. "There were a few things I needed clarification on."

Harry sits bolt upright in his chair, alarmed. "I thought we had everything all pinned down." He glances uncertainly at Estelle.

She smiles at him reassuringly. "I'm sure Lex just doesn't want to take any chances."

He nods. "You can never be too careful."

The corner of Estelle's mouth quirks up. "Indeed. So what did you need clarification on?"

He picks the first thing he sees. "Page fourteen. This total seems high."

Estelle turns to Marcy. "Can you give us the raw data?"

She jumps, not expecting to be called on, and then starts to flip through her papers, turning slightly pink. "Here it is." She reads a long list of figures

Lex nods. "High."

By now Harry's face has turned an uncomfortable shade of red. "What are you trying to pull here, Lex? You know perfectly well this is what we agreed on."

Estelle lays her hand on his arm. "That's all right, Harry. Lex is entitled to his second thoughts. As it happens, I have concerns over the terms on page forty-six. Seems unduly skewed in LuthorCorp's favor."

Estelle faces Lex across the table, hardball expression firmly in place, and Harry stares at her as if she's lost her mind. He just wants to sign the papers, get the deal done, and go back to picking out nursery furniture.

Lex checks his watch. "I'm afraid I wasn't expecting this to take so long, and I have another appointment." He gets to his feet. "Perhaps we can finish this over dinner tonight. Say Magnolia, eight o'clock?"

Harry turns even redder. "I, uh—I'm not sure—I mean, ordinarily there'd be nothing I'd enjoy more—" No doubt wife number three has laid down the law about working late and business dinners.

Estelle gracefully intercedes. "I'd be happy to handle this, Harry, if you have other commitments. I'm sure Lex and I can work out the kinks together." There's a gleam in her eye as she turns to Marcy, "Will you be able to join us? It would help to have someone there who has all the details at their command."

The girl's eyes go wide, and she opens her mouth and closes it again, before finally agreeing, "Of course, Ms. Owens. Whatever you and Mr. Luthor need."

Estelle smiles, all magnanimity. "Please. It's Estelle."

A shy, pleased look creeps over her face. "Okay. Thanks...Estelle." There's not a person at Sutherland besides Harry who calls Estelle Owens by her first name, and Marcy knows this perfectly well.

Lex shakes hands with Harry. "I'm sure we'll have a deal by the end of the evening. Give my regards to your wife."

Harry gives Lex an amiable enough send-off. He may not like loose ends, but he's always pleased by any small courtesy paid to the new Mrs. Sutherland.

As Lex is heading down the hall, he hears Estelle say, "Don't worry about what to wear tonight, Marcy. I'll help you with that."

Lex smiles to himself as he waits for the elevator doors to open. _I'm sure you will._

* * *

Lex spends the rest of the afternoon at LuthorCorp reviewing progress on various projects—the excuse of another appointment simply that, an excuse. The minute he steps through the door, greeted by a robust "good afternoon, Mr. Luthor" from the security guard, he gets a buzz more intense than any of the artificial highs he used to chase back in the days of his youthful rebellion.

Just walking the company's halls is a heady experience, the white flash of smiles from people trying to worm their way into his good graces, not that he has much use for sycophants, but it's proof positive that the balance of power has shifted irrevocably in his favor. His father's old cronies, Dominic Sanatori and the rest, slink around like nervous ghosts, waiting for the axe to fall. Lex has only kept them around this long because they make such fine living monuments to his victory—and because he gets a petty enjoyment out of seeing them sweat—but their day is coming soon.

After a meeting with his R&D team, he finds the masseuse his father put on corporate retainer, one of his last acts as CEO, waiting for him in his office. Cinnamon or Ginger or some spice for a name.

"I checked with your assistant," she informs him. "You have an opening right now. I could do something about that tension in your shoulders."

She makes the same offer every time, always with the same smile, a cross between professional concern and winsome seduction. The fact that she reminds him of Lana with her fine, delicate features and long dark hair piled on top of her head makes that rather disconcerting. The fact that she was hired by his father makes the thought of her touching him utterly revolting.

"I appreciate the offer," he tells her, with a false smile. "Maybe next time."

Cinnamon tilts her head. "I'm always available. Whenever you need me."

Her persistence makes him imagine worst-case scenarios, poisoned massage oil delivering death through his skin, pressure carefully applied to the wrong places, leaving him a vegetable for life. Like the old saying goes, _You're only paranoid if they're not actually trying to kill you._

He checks his cell phone, finds a message from a familiar number, listens impassively as it plays in his ear, "Um, hi, Lex. I, uh—there's something I want to ask you. When you have a chance. I'll be at home."

It's the same halting cadence Clark always uses when he wants a favor. There was a time when Lex would have called right back, eager to help. Now he snaps the phone closed, figuring it can wait until tomorrow.

He finishes up at work and stops at the hotel, showers and changes for his night out. He stands in front of the dresser as he puts on his cufflinks, but he doesn't glance up, avoids his own reflection in the mirror. Otherwise, he might have to ask himself what he's doing, might have to consider how empty his life must be if playing mind games with ingénues is what it takes to entertain him.

It's a pleasant evening out, spring has come early this year, and the restaurant isn't far, so he walks. It gives him an opportunity to survey his domain in intimate detail, taking in all the changes that have sprung up just in the past week, buildings put under construction, stores that have opened, closed, the city's endless changeability that makes Lex feel more alive than anything else ever will.

He gets to the restaurant before Estelle and Marcy, and the owner personally escorts him to their table.

"So good to see you again, Mr. Luthor. I'll show your guests over as soon as they arrive."

Magnolia is Lex's favorite spot in Metropolis, the perfect balance of opulence and comfort. It's a relief simply to be in a place where no one thinks of Spaghetti O's as Italian cuisine.

He orders a drink and glances around the room. There are business associates of his at nearby tables, and he nods in acknowledgement. A trio of underwear models is directly across the way, and whenever he looks their direction, they flutter their eyes, right on cue. If he didn't already have company lined up for the evening, he'd probably take them up on the offer

He does have plans, though, and it isn't long before Estelle and Marcy arrive. Estelle is regal in a black silk sheath, cut low in the front and back, showing off her flawless skin. Her influence in Marcy's attire is instantly apparent, a filmy dark blue chiffon halter dress. Undo the tie at the back of her neck, and it will fall right off her. Lex smiles to himself, knowing that's exactly what Estelle intends.

He stands to greet them, kisses Estelle on the mouth, making Marcy stare. "You're looking lovely." He nods to Marcy. "So glad you could join us."

The words are polite, expected, but he lets his gaze linger just a second longer than is strictly proper, and the girl blushes deliciously. He pulls out her chair, and she looks equally surprised and pleased by the old-fashioned courtesy. It's so easy to charm women—most women, at least—and Lex often wonders why more men don't make the effort.

After they're seated, the waiter brings menus, and Marcy bites her lip as she looks it over.

"The tuna is the house specialty," Lex suggests. "It's worth having just for the presentation."

Gratitude flashes across her face. "That sounds good."

They place their orders, and the wine steward approaches. He and Lex discuss the details and settle on a bottle of Cabernet.

It's little things Lex misses most about Metropolis, the ceremony of opening a bottle of wine at a fine restaurant, the elegant flourish as the cork comes out, the tasting, the ritual approval. Lex swirls the wine in his glass and takes a sip, nods to the steward, and he serves them all.

When he's gone, Estelle shoots Lex a saucy look. "So have you become any more reasonable about those numbers?"

He holds her gaze. "I could ask you the same question about the terms."

She tilts her head, as if considering. If she weren't such a fine lawyer, she would belong on the stage. "I suppose I could relent if you will," she says at last.

He leans forward, letting his voice drop suggestively, "You know I never refuse when you're in the mood to yield."

Her eyes light with amusement. "I did specify mutual submission, if you recall."

Across the table, Marcy watches them with big eyes, looking both amazed and left out, reaching for her wine for lack of anything better to do, quickly emptying half the glass.

"So I take it we have a deal then," Estelle says, smiling with genuine pleasure, although it has nothing to do with their meaningless business negotiations.

There are times when Lex wonders about this war on innocence she's always waging. He starts to consider the reasons for it, the things that might have happened to her when she was Marcy's age, but he stops himself. No questions asked, that's always been their agreement. He certainly doesn't want to explain his own past or anything having to do with Lionel.

"We have a deal," he tells her, returning the smile.

Their food arrives, brilliantly colored, architectonic on the plate, and Marcy stares with undisguised amazement. "Wow."

Lex raises his glass and says, "Bon appetite."

Getting someone to do what you want begins with careful observation. Lex catches the way Marcy looks at Estelle, with a hungry sort of admiration, and can tell that she's the kind of girl who's always been told she's "interesting-looking," her features just a little too sharp, too aggressive, to be actually pretty. A lifetime of envying women like Estelle, and envying who someone is can so easily be confused with wanting what they have.

No doubt, Estelle has already made these same calculations. When Lex leans over to kiss her between bites of tuna tartare, she returns the kiss with passion, running her red-tipped nails up the sleeve of his jacket.

"You need to come to Metropolis more often," she tells him in a low, throaty voice that would sound right at home in a sex film.

Lex pushes the strap of her gown off her shoulder, exposing a daring amount of skin, and presses his lips to the top of her breast. Marcy goes perfectly still, her eyes like a trapped animal's, not knowing what to do.

Estelle winks at her. "Lex and I are old friends."

They play it up all through dinner, heated glances and increasingly bold caresses and Estelle's hand disappearing under the table for long stretches of time. It's clear Marcy doesn't _want_ to stare—she's a well brought-up girl—but she can't seem to help herself, her eyes getting larger and rounder as the evening wears on.

When they finish dinner, the waiter clears away the dishes and brings dessert menus.

Lex proposes instead, "Champagne and strawberries back at my hotel suite. We can," he lets his gaze wander lazily over Marcy's body, "celebrate our successful negotiation." He smiles. "Privately, that is."

Bright spots of color appear in Marcy's cheeks, but she doesn't look away, a sign that she's at least as curious as she is embarrassed.

"Do join us, Marcy," Estelle chimes in. "It'll be fun." Her eyebrow quirks upward. "I can promise you that."

They watch and wait. Marcy's eyes are overly bright. Lex isn't sure if that's interest or just all the wine she's had to drink.

When she doesn't answer, Estelle adds breezily, "If you'd rather not, of course we understand."

She shifts her attention away from Marcy as if the girl has lost all interest for her. Lex has seen her use this ploy to devastating effect on people much older and wiser than Marcy. Estelle's focus is so intent, so single-minded having it trained on you is like being at the center of the cosmos, and when you lose it, you feel it. The panicky need to get it back is all too evident in the girl's face.

"I just—you see, I have—" she stalls, looking helpless.

Lex finishes the sentence in his head, _I have a boyfriend_. That she stopped herself from actually saying it means she's ripe for convincing.

A point Estelle is perfectly aware of, as well. She gives Marcy an indifferent smile. "No need to explain. Really." She touches Lex's arm, her voice soft and intimate, "We should get going."

Lex's smile is slow and heavy-lidded. "Of course."

He signals to their waiter and settles the bill, and Marcy grows more miserable by the moment. Lex helps Estelle arrange her shawl around shoulders, giving Marcy a few more seconds to reconsider.

Just as they're ready to give up, she blurts out, "Okay, I'll come." She blinks, as if surprised by herself and quickly adds, "For the champagne." She blushes brilliantly, no doubt other possibilities zinging wildly through her head.

Estelle shines approval on Marcy like a benevolent sun. "Wonderful."

"Just for a drink," she reiterates, nervously biting her lip.

Lex leans close, lets his lips graze her cheek, feels her shiver, as he whispers in her ear, "Go take off your panties. Bring them to me."

It's a risky ploy. She could balk altogether, but if she doesn't, if she gets up and takes that long walk across the restaurant to the powder room, it will be the end of second-guessing.

Marcy turns red enough to look dangerous, and Lex imagines the evening ending with a very public slap to the face.

Estelle leans forward and whispers urgently, "Do you think we'd ask just anyone to join us?"

She has unerring instincts for closing a deal, and the indecision in Marcy's eyes disappears. She lifts her chin and gets resolutely to her feet and walks very deliberately across the dining room.

Lex and Estelle exchange congratulatory glances, but they don't speak, some vague notion of bad luck, even if they'd never admit to it, keeping them silent. Marcy comes back a few minutes later, looking less confident than when she left, her face pink, turning even pinker when she shoves her balled up underwear into Lex's hand, her gaze shifting guiltily around the room, trying to make sure no one is watching. Lex tucks the panties into his pocket and smiles at Marcy. He's going to fuck her, soon, and they all know it.

The three of them spill out of the restaurant and into the limousine Estelle has waiting. Lex settles beside Estelle, and Marcy across from them. She sits up very straight, her expression tense, eyes darting from Lex to Estelle and back again, anxious about what's going to happen next.

Lex tumbles Estelle back against the leather upholstery, pressing his body against hers. Marcy lets out a startled noise, and her breathing grows heavier. Lex and Estelle kiss, and it's blistering. Never do they want each other more than when someone else is watching, and Marcy makes a wonderful audience. Lex slides the strap of Estelle's gown all the way off her shoulder, exposing her breast. He licks at her nipple. Estelle sighs with satisfaction. Marcy lets out a little squeak of excitement.

Lex pushes up the hem of Estelle's gown, showing off her creamy thighs. He strokes his fingers over the delicate silk of her stocking, flirts with her garter, lets his hand disappear beneath her dress. She's wet and swollen, and he fingers the slick folds. Estelle's head falls back against the seat, and she moans. Lex kisses her deeply. Marcy whimpers.

Estelle touches his erection through his pants, lightly, teasingly. He presses up into her hand, and Estelle smiles, running her tongue along his lip, making him wait for it, making Marcy wait. Finally, she opens his pants with a deft twist of her wrist, slips out of his arms, and kneels in the floorboard next to him.

Marcy's chest is visibly rising and falling, and her eyes glitter, nearly black with arousal, riveted on Estelle. Lex has no idea how many blowjobs Estelle has given in her life, although clearly it has been many, and she knows exactly what Lex likes. She traces the vein of his cock with the tip of her tricky pink tongue, and he strokes his thumb along one exquisite cheekbone. She is the most beautiful woman he has ever known. He has this same realization every time his cock is in her mouth.

Estelle lets the weight of his cock rest on her tongue, then takes him deep into her throat. Lex threads his fingers through her hair, undoes the diamond clip, and her hair falls free, framing her face. Marcy gasps out loud, and Lex understands. Seeing Estelle soft and yielding is as revealing, perhaps more so, than seeing her naked.

Lex's eyes flicker up, and they meet Marcy's across the close quarters of the back seat. Her thighs have fallen open in unladylike abandon, the heel of her hand pressed needily between her legs. She looks a little guilty, but that doesn't make her to stop.

As always, Estelle is a master of timing, keeping him on the fine edge of completion the whole way there. It's not until they've actually turned onto the block where the hotel is located that she sucks him with any real intention of letting him come. He finally does as they're pulling up to the curb. By the time the driver comes around to open the door, Lex's pants are zipped up, and Estelle is perfectly presentable. They pull Marcy from the limo and into the hotel.

In the elevator, Estelle and Lex stand apart, not touching, more of a tease that way. Marcy leans against the back wall, fidgeting, waiting for something to happen. Lex studies her out of the corner of his eye, putting together a profile of her sexual history, some naive fumbling in high school, a few years in college when she indulged in one-night stands just to prove she could. And now this nameless boyfriend she's happily cheating on. She's the perfect complement for them, innocent enough to be a challenge, corruptible enough to be interesting.

The elevator dings and the doors open at their floor. Estelle sweeps off. Marcy starts to follow, but Lex takes her by surprise, pushing her back against the wall. It's the first time he's really touched her, and the kiss make her gasp, hot, aggressive thrust of his tongue between her lips, taking possession, just the way he'll fuck her when they get to the room.

He pulls away. He likes the way she looks freshly kissed, her expression soft and a little stunned, her mouth very pink.

He smiles. "We shouldn't keep Estelle waiting."

Estelle has already kicked off her shoes when they get to there The champagne is chilled, the glasses waiting, and Lex opens the bottle with a flourish. The pop of the cork makes Marcy laugh, her eyes sparkling. Lex serves the ladies first, kissing them each in turn. Marcy curls her fingernails into the lapel of his jacket, holding on like it's a matter of survival, and he can smell her, sweat and arousal and just a little lingering fear.

They clink glasses, and Estelle declares, "To a satisfying evening. For all of us."

There's more kissing and more champagne, and by the third glass, Marcy is practically giddy.

Lex asks her, "What would you like?"

The question startles her, and her giggling quickly evaporates. She opens her mouth to say something, but Lex shakes his head. "Show me."

This startles her even more, and then a consciousness creeps into her expression. Her panties are in Lex's pocket, and they're going to have sex, and maybe if she really wanted to, she could still turn back. But that's the thing. She doesn't want to.

"Show us what you want, Marcy," Estelle says, as if nothing has ever been more important.

Marcy's eyes fasten on her, and the look on her face is naked and confused. She wants to be Estelle, wants what Estelle has, wants Estelle—it all blurs together—and Estelle smiles softly. She closes the few feet between them, takes Marcy's face in her hands and kisses her.

"Go on," she says, almost gently.

Marcy takes a deep breath and walks over to the bed, a little shakily, nervousness and too much champagne making her weave. She perches on the edge of the mattress, like an easily startled bird. She looks helplessly at Estelle and then Lex, but they make no answer. They've already said everything they have to say. _Show us._

Sensuality is a complex equation, so many variables. Sometimes the most graphic display can be about as arousing as counting ceiling tiles. And then there are times like this, when something as simple as watching this girl open her thighs, slide her skirt up her legs, fingers clenching in the filmy blue fabric, knuckles turning white, is almost too exciting to stand.

Lex takes a moment to enjoy the sight, the girl exposed and vulnerable, her need so openly on display, before doing something about it. The floor is hard beneath his knees despite the carpet, a fitting counterpoint to the girl's softness. He brushes kisses along the insides of her thighs, making her squirm, making her beg,

"Please!"

He uses his thumbs to spread her open. She's wet and hot, and every touch of his tongue makes her wetter and hotter. He hums softly as he eats her, feeling rather satisfied with himself.

The bed dips, and Lex glances up. Estelle has taken off her dress, and she kneels beside Marcy, tilts her chin, takes her mouth in a ruthless kiss. Marcy seems overwhelmed, as if she can't decide what to give her attention, Estelle's preternaturally perfect body shown off devastatingly in her black lingerie, or the warm, wet demand of her mouth, or the inventive things Lex is doing between her legs.

Lex hears a zipper pulled down and then a rustle of fabric. Marcy's dress lands on the floor beside him. Estelle presses kisses to the swells of her breasts, and Marcy eventually works up the courage to touch her back, her hands shaking.

Estelle fingers the clasp of her bra. "May I?"

Marcy nods, her face pale, strained, and Estelle flicks the bra open, tosses it aside. Marcy's breasts are small and very pretty, perfectly round, the areolas large, nipples a dark rose, hard as pebbles.

Estelle murmurs, "Lovely." She bends her head, kisses the creamy skin, licks at the nipples.

Marcy shudders convulsively, all over, and Lex braces his hands on her thighs to keep them from clamping closed. If her reaction afterwards is any indication, this orgasm is a life-altering experience, an unfocused look in her eyes, her lip trembling.

Estelle's face glows with triumph. "Let's get more comfortable."

She urges Marcy back against the pillows, and Lex finishes undressing her, sliding her stockings down her legs, pulling off her shoes. Estelle dispenses with the rest of her own clothing, and that just leaves Lex.

"Show us," Estelle tells him, sharing a conspiratorial smile with Marcy.

Lex smirks and gets up from bed. He slips out of his jacket, unbuttons his shirt, taking his time, pulling the shirt off slowly, letting it dangle from his finger and finally fall to the floor. He skims out of his pants and underwear, and the women's eyes get darker as they watch.

He stands at the foot of the bed, runs a hand over his chest, letting them look. Estelle's lips curve gently, the warmth of appreciation in her eyes. Marcy stares wide-eyed. Lex is used to that. At best, his body is exotic; at worst he's a freak. Marcy's eyelids flutter, and she licks her lips. Lex smiles. He's used to that, too.

He moves to the side of the bed, his erection swaying in front of him. He leans down to kiss Estelle. She loops an arm around his neck and opens her mouth beneath his. When she pulls back, she smiles fondly at him and squeezes his cock, making him grunt.

"I know what you'd like." She gives him a sidewise look that's more provocative than any come-hither stare.

She takes hold of his hips, bends her head, and she's right. She does know what he likes. He strokes her hair as she goes down on him and let his fingers wander over her back. He can feel Marcy watching, the intensity of her gaze like an actual touch, but he pays no attention. Her turn will come later. This is just for them.

He reaches for the nightstand drawer, takes out a box of condoms the hotel keeps stocked there. Estelle pulls off his cock with a delightfully obscene smack of her lips, flashes him a smile, and takes the condom out of his hand

Marcy's excited gasp is the perfect accompaniment as Lex settles onto the bed and pulls Estelle into his lap. He doesn't tease or draw things out. There's no need for that. He knows what she needs, and he gives it to her, filling her completely in one stroke. She cries out his name and bites her lip and pushes her body down hard for more.

He closes his eyes and presses his face into the curve of her neck, breathing her in, soap and expensive perfume and that indefinable something he would know anywhere, that is simply Estelle. They begin to move together, falling into a rhythm that's second nature. Lex kisses her throat and savors how tight and good and familiar her body feels around his.

Lex knows just how to drive her wild and thrusts into her, hitting the same spot over and again. She rakes her nails over his back, digging into his flesh. He holds tight to her hips, probably leaving bruises, but she likes that, too. The sex grows more demanding, no tease, all business. This is the warm-up act after all, and Marcy is waiting. It isn't long before Estelle's body bears down, and she throws her head back, her mouth a round, wide circle of pleasure.

She doesn't move after it's over, resting with her face pressed against his shoulder. Lex holds her, running his hands idly over her back, occasionally kissing her neck, listening as her breathing quiets. In this moment, they're the only two people in the room, in the universe, and that's no act. They have the kind of sympathy for one another that only misshapen beings can share, and no one else can ever really get inside that, no matter how many sticky things they do together in bed.

The way Marcy is watching them it seems she understands that, an air of resigned disappointment in her eyes, at war with desperate need, her mouth a tight line, fingers deep inside her pussy. Lex and Estelle trade smiles. It's time for the main event. Estelle untangles herself from Lex, and they launch themselves at Marcy in a united assault, making her squeal with delight.

Estelle covers her in kisses. Lex pushes away her hand and thrusts two fingers into her just to hear the noise she'll make.

Estelle maneuvers Marcy onto her hands and knees, and Lex peels off the old condom and rolls on a fresh one. He pushes into her roughly, because he wants her to feel him, wants her to remember. Her pussy grips his cock snugly, and he closes his eyes and starts to fuck.

There is a certain detachment in having sex with a stranger, almost clinical, try this, try that, gauge the reaction, a kind of erotic trial and error, looking for the hot buttons. Lex moves his hips, and Marcy digs his nails into the bedspread, howling like a desperate little animal.

It occurs to Lex then that he's always taken for granted a certain sophistication in the women he sleeps with, women like Estelle who wear their elegance coolly, every reaction controlled, even during sex. Maybe especially then. This girl is all raw enthusiasm, bucking up hard into every thrust, her back bowing with the force, a perfect arc. Her neck has turned a fierce shade of red, and her hair, dark with sweat, is plastered to her skin.

Lex is only a few years older than she is, but he feels almost like a pervert for fucking her.

Estelle lies on her side, touching her breasts, watching intently. The closer Marcy gets to orgasm the more she sounds like someone is trying to kill her, but when she does actually come, she goes rigid and silent, her eyes wide and staring. Her body seizes around Lex's cock, and he moans and comes as well.

Lex flops down onto the bed and lets out his breath, a long sigh of satisfaction. Marcy continues to shake even after the orgasm is over, and Estelle strokes her hair and whispers comforting nonsense. The sweet lilt of her voice is lulling, and Lex closes his eyes.

When he wakes again, he hears the sound of urgent female voices. He opens his eyes, but doesn't move. The lights are out, but hotel rooms are never particularly dark. He can see Marcy kneeling between Estelle's legs, face buried between her thighs, head bobbing.

Estelle strokes her hair and whispers, "That's so good. Just like that."

Lex has to smile at his own ego. He can see now that this was always meant to be the main event. Estelle catches his eye and smiles, her expression soft with pleasure, and Lex runs his thumb over her lovely face, a warm feeling in his chest that could pass for affection. If they weren't both so stunted, they might even be good together.

He falls asleep to Estelle's breathy sex sounds and doesn't wake until weak rays of morning light are creeping across the carpet. He shifts on his side and looks around, listens for the shower, but the women are already gone. On the nightstand is the folded-up contract, and Lex laughs. Estelle and her dramatic flourishes, making Marcy believe that this is the price of doing business, what it takes to make it in the world.

He wonders how long they'll last, a few days, weeks, a month at the most. He wonders if Estelle will take Marcy along on other deals, turn her into the company whore, or if she'll keep her all for herself. Of course, he knows how it will end, the way these things always do. Estelle will get bored, and Marcy will be given a job at another Sutherland office, somewhere very far away, an offer too good to turn down.

Lex stretches and gets out of bed, picks his clothes up from the floor. He checks his jacket pocket, and the panties are gone. Estelle likes her souvenirs. It makes him think of that first kiss in the elevator, conveniently captured on the hotel security tape. He'll get the manager to make a copy of it for him. He's done favors like this for Lex before, and it will be worth having it just to see that surprised look on Marcy's face once more.

When the phone rings, he snaps out of his pleasant contemplation and back into a business frame of mind.

He flips open the phone. "Luthor."

"Lex," Cark sounds surprised that he actually answered. "I, um—I hope isn't too early. I just—you didn't call me back yesterday."

"I had some rather pressing business." It's not exactly a lie.

"Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean—"

"That's fine," Lex cuts off the apology. "What can I do for you?"

"Well—" he stumbles over the request, and Lex scans his schedule on his PDA until Clark finally gets to the point, "So, um, do you think you can help me?"

For a moment, a scene flashes before his eyes, Clark down on his knees, putting that sinful mouth to good use, on his belly, legs spread, learning a hard lesson about the price of doing business.

But all he says is, "Sure, Clark. I'll take care of it." In his head, an imaginary balance sheet swings even more precariously out of kilter.

He hangs up and gets dressed, signs the contract and tucks it into his jacket pocket. He'll have it delivered to Harry Sutherland later today, and send Estelle a copy of the surveillance tape for her private collection, along with a big bouquet of white lilies. They're a symbol of purity, and it will entertain Lex all afternoon picturing her ironic smile when she gets them.

The sun is just coming up over the horizon, touching the buildings with a violent pink light that is both beautiful and unsettling. Or maybe it's just Lex who is unsettled. He heads up the blocks, his footfalls thudding on the pavement. The pulse of the city thrums through him, along with an uncomfortable knowledge that he just can't ignore.

The day is coming soon, he feels it, when Clark's free ride will be over, and it's time to start paying back all the accumulated debt of defaulted friendship and thwarted desire. The day when there's nothing left for him in Smallville, and this bright, empty life in Metropolis swallows him entirely. Because no one can wait around forever hoping to be loved, not even Lex.

He knows himself well enough to be very afraid of that day.


End file.
